13 Hours of Rain

Son, you build creations with little interlocking blocks, Usually intricate ships for your super heroes to fly. You zoom around the house, fighting battles Between good and evil. Good wins. Daughter, you create music on black & white keys, Persevering through difficult pieces with tears. You appear to quit as you run off to your room. Yet, you return and play Beautifully. There are days I am afraid of the future. Our population as a species continues to rise exponentially. However, our Earth's size remains the same. It is becoming more and more challenging to produce food for our world. And the more people we jam pack together, the more we live in disunity. Crazy diseases emerge, threatening to be the next pandemic. Human-produced garbage continues to rise while the rest of the biotic elements of our ecosystem suffer. I feel sick thinking about all of this. Yet your examples, as you battle the next villain or try to master "Singing Donkey" with ...

You've become pet owners. Well, stuffy pet owners. Son, yours is Brown Bear, a small bear whom you treat as a dog. You've had Brown Bear every since you were an infant. Daughter, yours is Bob, a big cream coloured dog who is apparently Uncle Toot's son (Uncle Toot, the very large stuffed dog, lives in Grandma & Grandpa's apartment). You both take care of your pets as if they are real. Brown Bear is especially real. He peed in his bed last night and the blanket just HAD to be changed! As a mother, I am delighted to witness a more compassionate side to both of you. I know you'd LOVE a real dog to enter our family, but alas, our regular trips to visit our extended family make pet ownership difficult. We won't get a cat, so don't get your hopes up about that alternative. Both your Daddy and I are not fans of cats. We have met "friendly" cats in other people's home, and enjoyed them. But we've never been compelled to own one for ourselve...

"Please pray for me," your Nana asked mid-afternoon. "I have a terrible flu." "I will Daddy," I responded while saying a quick prayer in my head. It's the flu. It will pass. How serious could it be? Then I received word late evening. Your Nani was in panic. Your Nana's condition had gone critical. He was struggling to breathe. His lungs were filling up with fluid. He was literally drowning. Save me, O God; for the waters are come in unto my soul.  I sink in deep mire, where there is no standing: I am come into deep waters, where the floods overflow me. I am weary of my crying: my throat is dried: mine eyes fail while I wait for my God. (Psalm 69: 1 - 3) The ambulance was called. A faithful friend accompanied Nani to the emergency. Another friend stayed with your frightened Mausi as we live three hours way. An hour past. I sent out frantic e-mails for prayer. Good news arrived. Nana's condition was stabilizing. All seemed well? 24 hou...

"It's Brown Bear's birthday today. He's three," you grin at me as you squeeze your precious stuffed bear. Your eyes twinkle with delight. You disappear for about half an hour as I answered morning e-mails. I see you grab the Spiderman gift wrap. Some tape. Various pieces of cardboard and cotton puffs. You come back with two makeshift packages. "I've wrapped some presents for Brown Bear. Where should I put them?" you inquire. "Under the tree," I smile at your ingenuity and thoughtfulness. After all, if it's Brown Bear's birthday, he's gotta receive some gifts! "So, what did you buy Brown Bear?" "Some bones. And a bowl for his food." My son, you are creative and imaginative. I marvel (and sometimes cringe) at the battle scenes you enact with your Lego creations. I chuckle as you belt out songs from the bathroom during your morning routine. I swell with joy when I see you creating a Batmobile ...

The life of a substitute teacher is far from glamorous. Well, my life in particular. With an availability schedule that is every other day (because of J.'s KG) along with a system that requires the teacher to find their own substitute teacher, I am averaging two calls a month. Definitely not glamorous income-wise. It is difficult not to become discouraged. And for a person like me who thrives under affirmation and avoids situations that lead to failure, I feel exactly that -- a failure. And it is tough, when you know that you are a good teacher -- definitely better than average -- with years of education (sorry if that sounded prideful). Yet, at best, I'm a twice-a-month substitute, carrying out someone else's plans which usually consists of much supervision and glorified "baby-sitting". Ugh. For years, I have felt in control of my destiny. I am a control-freak. Intellectually I know that God is ultimately in control. Yet, I often operate as if it all depend...

I sit at a table with a view of the pond. It is still and serene outside. Twilight is settling as faint streaks of pink and purple blend into darker blue. The solar lights start to twinkle amidst the lush garden foliage. The green of the trees is replaced with inky blackness. The time of day is apropos, as I pen this post. The sun is setting on a season in your Grandma and Grandpa’s lives. It is time to move from the homestead to a smaller and more convenient location in the city. This house has been sold in response to the realities of aging. It is a logical and wise decision. Yet, I am sad. More sad than I imagined. I have only known this place for a decade, 10 short years in comparison to almost a lifetime for your Daddy. I was introduced to this place when your Daddy introduced me to his parents, five older sisters, five brother-in-laws, and numerous nieces and nephews. I recall feeling apprehensive. And overwhelmed. Would this “brown” professional woman in her early ...

You become a product of where you live and whom (or what) you love. Yes, nature takes a part in your character development and value placement. But, how you are nurtured, along with the object of your affections, hones who you are. We recently concluded an action packed week with your Mausi*  and her family. The time was sweet and precious. You cousins concocted imaginative adventures. Tummies were fed mostly "Canadian" fare with dollops of ice cream now and then. And us adults played many, many board games while laughing and sharing over chai and chocolate. Your Mausi and her family live in another region of our world, where the climate and food is hot and the culture is more patriarchal than ours. And as I listened to the differences between here and there, and pondered how your Mausi and her family live a life that is quite different than mine, I couldn't help but ask myself, "What 'Western' values are worth holding on to? And what 'Eastern' v...

You have a creative mind. Imagining, Dreaming, Envisioning rocket ships out of Lego, Zooming through time and space. You have a compassionate heart. Consoling, Praying, Opening your little arms wide, Comforting with a kiss and words. You have a sense of humor. Giggling, Smirking, Singing silly songs with a rock beat, Playing the air guitar with gusto. You have a desire to compete. Running, Skating, Negotiating through various board games, Winning the satisfaction of number one. You are our soon to be school boy. Reading, Computing, Leaving the shelter of home, Embracing a new world with joy. (And I, your Mommy, will miss you.)

Well, I finally did it. That is hosting a party where you, my daughter, were allowed to invite guests from school (in addition to church). Wow. What a lot of work. On the whole, I believe it was worth it. Though today, you have a full blown cold, my lower back is a mess and your Daddy is aching all over from trucking up and down stairs with laundry baskets full of party supplies. But, like I said, it was totally worth it and a joy to orchestrate. Don't worry. This post isn't Pinterest-like, where I visually display what a fabulous Mom I am (or at least I'm not trying to). Neither will I be posting a whole load of pictures, as I do not have permission from our guests to post them on the world wide web (which many Facebook users forget). This is more of a reflective post that documents the event, for you, my daughter, and for anyone else who may benefit from our experience. You like movies and crafts. So I decided that we'd gift you a Frozen  themed party, whe...

Thanks, dear family, for skating with me. I love you!

The Toy Pile Up Dearest son, you have a vivid and creative imagination. I am thankful. You have the ability to play on your own and create daring scenarios with your cars and superheros. You can pick up a book and just "read", unraveling tales to match the pictures. Your dreams are intense, sometimes frightening, more often fascinating. Your artistic renditions reflect depth of story instead of two dimensional objects. Your Lego creations are complex and unique. Keep imagining, my son. Create unrestrained. And dream God's dreams.

It began with some national inspiration, the idea to open our home to newcomers or immigrants and share thanksgiving. The weekend approached. We were informed an Irish fellow was to be our guest. But our city organizer was unable to make contact. And I had bought all this food planning on welcoming a family of four. Plans were changed. Your Daddy persevered in spite of my temptation to "just forget it". A last minute invitation was offered. And a couple from your Daddy's place of work graced our table to partake in turkey, Cabernet Sauvignon and pumpkin pie. It was a good time. I hate to admit it, but I really struggled with misplaced missionary zeal while promoting and anticipating this event. I had aspirations of being used by God to transform a newcomer's life, so much so, that they would dramatically profess faith in Christ and testify to the power of hospitality. "See what happens when you open your home to strangers? The church grows! Let's all d...

Today I write to promote a National program called Shared Thanksgiving where Canadian citizens open up their homes to share their Thanksgiving Dinner with immigrants or newcomers to Canada. Before I share the details, I would like to share a short story about my family. My parents emigrated from India to Canada in the early 1970’s. Both of them are third generation Christians. I was born in large metropolitan city in central Canada. Six months after my birth, our family moved to the prairies. I spend my elementary years in a small hamlet in the northwest region of our province where the hills roamed, the evergreens soared and crystal lakes pooled. There, my Dad taught Grade 6 at a nearby Indian Reservation. Evangelical churches were hard to come by in this region of the province. It wasn’t until four years later that my parents settled into a warm, hospitable Pentecostal church located in a nearby town. My parents were not Pentecostal by denomination, but it was either that or the C...

This Fall, it will be four years since we moved to this small prairie city. And I realize I am not chasing church anymore. Chasing church? Sounds strange, doesn't it? Let me explain. I am expending less energy on trying to fit in at my place of worship. Instead, I am allowing God to bring people along my path that fit with me and our family's passions and interests. At the Family Camp we were recently at, your Daddy and I had an opportunity to connect with a woman who attends our church with her husband. Because of their ministry, they attend sporadically. As a result, they don't feel like they are building relationships within our church. Your Daddy and I shared with her how we often felt the same, that we didn't fit into the existing groups that comprised our congregation, in spite of our church's overall welcoming spirit. Our collective struggle encouraged us and this woman to pursue relationships with people like us. After all, there are probably more people i...

My experiences of camp have been mixed. I remember the first time I was at camp. It was with my family. My Dad was the program director and us little kids, along with Mom, tagged along for the experience. I recall the female teen campers gushing over the program director's cute brown kids. And I enjoyed making a blue paper mache doll during craft time. My next camp experience was as a young pre-teen. I attended a Pentecostal camp with one of my sisters and a cousin. My memories included a slug filled slough-of-a-lake, plain macaroni with ketchup (yuck!) and awesome chapel services. At the end of this camp, I was prayed over to receive the gift of the Holy Spirit (i.e. the ability to speak in tongues). I didn't receive it. I was okay with that. Years later, I participated in Teen Camp at the camp I attended with my Dad. The food was fabulous. Almost everything else was a BIG disappointment. I was an awkward, chubby, not-so-trendy young girl who didn't catch the eye of ...

"God knows all the stuff. You don't!" you, my son, proclaim to end a debate between siblings. I smile, laugh and quickly grab a pen to write down the sentence on a scrap of paper. A few moments later, you question your Daddy. "Daddy, can you kick a ball all the way up to the sky?" "No. No one can." "But God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit can," you correct. Your Daddy nods with a slight smirk on his face, "Though, I don't know why they would want to." Just now, as I type this post, you ask: "Is our house made of bricks?" "No. It's made of wood." "Can wood break?" "Yes." "Is the outside of our house wood?" "No. It's plastic." "Can plastic break?" "Yes J. Everything can break." "Not God, Jesus or the Holy Spirit," you remind me once again. I think you will be a preacher one day. :)

I am yearning to work again. I am longing to use my brain in more ways than engaging in household management a good portion of my waking hours. I ache to use my leadership and teaching skills on a larger scale than just typing away thoughts in a blog that some people read (thank you!) and you children will read *some* day. All of this reminds me of your Nani. Your Nani was trained to be a Biology/Chemistry teacher. But she really wanted to be a medical doctor. Since medical school was financially unattainable for a lower middle class Pastor's income, your Nani had to settled for what her father could afford: learning to teach the subjects that most related to becoming a physician. Your Nani was an excellent teacher. She taught at a reputable school for three years until she married and traversed ocean and land to live in a relatively isolated region of our province. She called her new home as a new bride and new immigrant to our country "the jungle". Interestingly eno...

It was a powerful moment. Your cousin shared excerpts of typical teenage drama in front of extended family. People listened with rapt attention. Laughter burst forth at poignant moments. Hushed silence captured the room as wise conclusions were reached about high school romances. Some advice was offered by adults. But mainly, we just wanted to listen. I couldn’t help but step back and return to my childhood. Beginning at Grade 1, I had a crush on a new boy practically every other year until I graduated from high school. Almost all of the boys had blond hair and blue eyes. I never dated any of them publicly or in secret. Dating was frowned upon by your Nana and Nani. While the act of dating was not attributed as wrong, it was deemed unwise, especially as a teenager. Most teenagers are pretty immature when it comes to matters of the heart, so we were strongly advised to avoid infatuations and focus on more pressing priorities. After all, your Nana and Nani believed in appropriate stage...

I am thankful for friends. And I realize through the walk of life that one has different kinds of friends for different kinds of needs and occasions. Kindred Spirits . I owe this phrase to one of my favourite movies of all time "Anne of Green Gables". I have a few kindred spirits in my life, which is good, because they wouldn't be kindred if such friends were common. These people just "get me" as they share many of the same values as me. They understand how I think, because they often think the same way. They are loyal. They speak my "love language" of quality time and affirmation. They choose to be on my side and pray for me often. They remember my birthday. They are a safe place for me to vent, because I know my secrets are guarded in their care. And, they admonish me when I need some guidance or correction. Historical Friendships . I have friends in my life who are there because we have been together through a significant period of life such as ...

  There are days I mourn that fact that my birth family is scattered all around the globe. In weak moments, I envy those who have every sibling within a day’s driving distance. And sometimes I sincerely wish I was called to re-located to another corner of the world just to experience adventures along with your Mausi, Mausa, Mamu & Emo. Truthfully, I just miss my family. I miss the synergy of having everyone under the same roof and witnessing your Nana & Nani glowing with contentment. This coming week I turn 40. Yes, forty, four decades or 1.26 billion seconds. To celebrate my birthday, I requested a little holiday with just you kids and your Daddy. I did not want the stress of orchestrating a duel family gathering to celebrate my day (though I have given your Daddy a ten year warning to plan a party for my 50th Birthday!). Neither did I want the reminder of how most of my side of the family was missing (the good-byes are still raw). So, being the control-freak tha...